


John K, Johnny L

by orphan_account



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Descent into Madness, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A short exploration of John Kreese's life before he met Johnny Lawrence, and how he came to be who he is. We explore a little bit of his early life and a small part of his time in Vietnam.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	John K, Johnny L

**Author's Note:**

> John Kreese's character has intrigued me since watching Cobra Kai. This is just a short exploration of how he might have come to be how he is. Let me know what you think. Why do you think John Kreese is the way he is? Thanks for reading!
> 
> The quote at the beginning is from The Haunting of Hill House TV show on Netflix. I am not sure if that quote is in the original book. Just a heads up that I am not trying to ignore Shirley Jackson's work if that is her original quote.

_“Fear and guilt are sisters. I knew a man once who knew those sisters well. They kissed his eyelids as he slept, and every morning he went just a little more mad. He built a wall to keep it all outside, but those two sisters, they were in there with him.”_

_-The Haunting of Hill House, Netflix Adaptation, Episode 10_

***

“Dad,” John tugged on the worn sleeve of the man seated at the wooden table in the small, spotless kitchen, “what did it mean when that man in town called us dirt farmers?”

His father sighed and set down his cup of coffee. He saw his mother pause for a split second washing the dishes. 

“Son,” he began, “sometimes people will say unkind things and they won’t respect you for what you do. All that matters is that you believe in what you’re doing and that you give it all you have.”

“But you work so hard, why wouldn’t they respect you?”

His father sighed again, “John, other people have their own opinions. All we can do is work hard and do our best. All we can do is give everything we’ve got.” 

His mother was nodding at the counter. She was stacking the last of the dishes. Soon she would send him to bed. 

He looked at them both, tired from a long day of work, getting ready to start another tomorrow, and knew the discussion was over. 

***

“I’m so proud of you, John,” his father said, slapping him on the shoulder. “The Army just gained a good soldier.” 

“Thanks Dad,” John grinned, looking at his boots. “I just hope I can do as well as you did.”

His father smiled, “John, it’s really not about doing well.” His smile faltered, “You’ll find out sooner than I’d like you to … just remember that you’re fighting for what is right. And remember that it will end, even if it feels like it won’t.” 

John nodded and boarded the bus that would take him to basic training. He waved goodbye to his father. His mother was at home, watching the farm in his father’s absence.

***

John did his father proud. He sailed through training with the strength and fortitude that years of hard work had afforded him. He wasn’t stupid, and soon became one of command’s favorites. It wasn’t long until he was in line to join Special Forces. He rose quickly to the top because of his skill and attitude. He gave everything his all. When he was told he would be shipped out in two weeks, he was excited to finally prove himself.

***

His first mission was what the Green Berets called, “organizing resistance.” He spent time with people in their village, helped them with chores, taught their children karate moves and a few English words here and there. His favorites were Cuong and An, two little boys who could barely hold the tools they used to work the fields but worked tirelessly all the same. 

He sat replying to a letter from Betty. He could hear her bright, clear voice and wide smile in the sentences she wrote. He smiled to himself and continued writing, not knowing when he would be able to send the letter. 

He was startled from his thoughts by a small foot slamming into his shoulder and the jovial shouting of, “Geese! Geese!”

A few days ago, he had been sitting by the water with the kids and pointed at the geese, of course accompanying it by saying, “Geese.”

They had frowned at him, so he flapped his arms, pointed again, and said, “Geese.”

Cuong turned to grin at him, and said, “John Geese?”

“John Kreese,” he corrected. He knew they knew his name but played along with Cuong’s game.

And then, endlessly amused by his own joke, Cuong started chanting, “John Geese! John Geese!”

So, anyway, his name was “Geese” now.

Cuong and An were done with work for the day and obviously wanted to spar.

They each grabbed one muscled arm as he stood up and he carried them over to a clearing where they always practiced. People who were done with work for a few hours and fellow Green Berets always came over to watch. His fellow soldiers always got a kick out of Captain John Kreese gently sparing with five-year olds.

A grin stretched over his face. He would never admit it, but this was the best part of his day. The best part of this place. It made the uncertainty and the danger feel worth it. If he was protecting these kids, then he could live with it all.

He looked down to see Cuong and An looking at him curiously. The shadow left his face and he smiled, “Okay, let’s learn crescent kicks today!”

He demonstrated and soon the little boys were kicking and jumping, creating new versions of the move.

He smiled and chuckled. This was the small drop of innocence they all needed. When he let his eyes scan the people around them, he noticed that everyone’s eyes looked the same. Tired and blank.

That night, gunshots and small explosions woke him at around 200 hours. Adrenaline pounding, he stood up, boots already on. He slung his weapon around his shoulders and motioned for his soldiers to follow.

They crept into the darkness. How many times had they defended this village? He had lost count.

He saw a shadow move and brought his troops to a halt. He sent one man forward, the quietest and the quickest. John watched him walk forward, willing him to find nothing. 

The man stopped and motioned that there were at least five enemies.

John grit his teeth and held his breath. He relayed the message back and they all moved forward.

He could never remember what happened during the fire fights. Gunshots deafened him. Bright flashes blinded him. He did what he had been trained to do. He had always been a good soldier, a perfect soldier.

When the shooting stopped, he moved forward, keeping his men back. They had brought down the group. Were they Viet Cong? Or were they just men, doing what they felt they had to do? He ignored the thought and they began to clean the area. Making it look as if nothing had happened. They needed to sweep for traps, bombs – but they also needed to clear the bodies.

John and his troops worked for hours. The first light of dawn began to stretch across the sky. They had almost finished clearing everything. Soon it would look like nothing had happened.

He stood up to stretch and saw Cuong’s mom, Hwa, walking toward him, looking worried.

He looked at her questioningly and she explained that Cuong was missing. She looked back at the forested area John and his men were clearing.

He shook his head, explaining that he hadn’t seen him anywhere. She started to walk toward the woods, but John stopped her, “I’ll go look for him. I’ll look for him.”

He started into the woods, searching in a wide arc, back and forth across the area. He was about to go back, concluding that Cuong wasn’t here when he heard someone moving. He followed the sound and spotted Hwa, also searching. He called out to her and that’s the last thing he remembered for hours.

Searing pain down the left side of his body woke him. He lifted his hand to his ears and noted he could barely hear the people talking around him. He was being treated for something. It looked like shrapnel wounds. That meant there had been a bomb, which meant—

“What happened to Hwa?” he shouted, swinging his legs over the side of his cot.

The medic hurried over and forced him to stay on the cot. “She’s here. She’s going to survive … but barely.”

Hwa had lost her leg in the explosion. It took months of recovery for her to get back to something resembling normal, her son taking on many of her responsibilities.

Cuong blamed John for escaping the blast that nearly killed his mother, but he also blamed himself for being the reason she had been in the woods. The children stopped trusting John, and for the next few months he watched gentle children turn stoic. He felt himself grow cold and distant. He was no longer very good at “organizing resistance” so the army gave him a new mission. They put him somewhere where he could be useful.

***

Guerilla tactics came naturally to John. He was used to running barefoot through the fields and the woods where he grew up. The landscape was different, but he thought he was ready.

All his men survived their first mission, and the next, and the next. They began to believe they were invincible. They thought maybe something, or someone was protecting them. John led his men with as much honor as he could muster. He had to keep morale up. He knew men without morale were dead men. And there was only one way to keep morale up – make sure the men knew that what they were doing was right. That it had purpose.

It was three years after he had left the village and engaged in guerrilla fighting missions when he came face to face with Cuong and An. It was dark. He shot first, and when the firing stopped, those two little boys and all the other children bearing weapons and wearing makeshift armor were dead. 

His heart solidified in that moment. His mind faltered and started to crack.

But they had been the enemy. He had no way of knowing they were just kids. They would have shot him, too. Right?

He convinced himself. He convinced his soldiers. He built the enemy up in his mind until it went with him everywhere – until it filled in the cracks. He protected his men because it was all he could do, and he stopped questioning. Just as his father said, he had to give this his all.

***

A few years later, a skinny blonde boy walked into his dojo. His name was John, too, but he went by Johnny. He was small but tough. He had a wide smile, and he was determined. He saw himself in the boy, how he had been so many years ago, and saw weakness.


End file.
